Title: The Kiss of a Maiden
Pairing: Harry Potter/Astoria Greengrass
Lady Astoria Greengrass's strawberry-blonde curls garnered much abuse as she contemplated the situation. Her right index finger wound through a curl, only to pull it taut, until it was as straight as her hair ever got, and then she released it. The lock of hair bounced against her chest, being the shortest layer she allowed. Her hair was unique, magnificent, and she wasn't above using it to attract the right sort of attention. However, that was the least of her concerns.
She stood on the balcony off the Ravenclaw tower, knowing her fellow housemates wouldn't approach her when she was on it. The few people who would dare to interrupt her when she sought privacy were in other houses.
Her cool, jade eyes watched the wizard flying through the air as if he hadn't a care in the world. Yet she was observant enough to notice how recklessly he flew, as if possible injury didn't matter. She couldn't fault him for his grief, though. Lord Harry Potter had lost his godfather, and Sirius Black (despite his rebelliousness) would have done his duty to his godson. Losing his only link to the Ancient Laws and Customs must hurt as much as the ruptured magical link that used to bind his magic to his godfather.
"Would you listen?" Astoria asked as she gazed upon Harry.
Before this year, she never would have presumed to speak to him. She never would have considered introducing herself—how rude and disrespectful! And she never would have pondered the merits of advising him on proper deportment, particularly when it came to expressing interest in a witch.
Astoria had been interested in Harry since the moment she first saw him. His magic was a fearsome thing, rippling with power and protectiveness. As a pureblood witch, one raised the proper way, her magic naturally sought a guardian and protector for her. She wasn't without magical strength herself (being quite powerful), but she needed a wizard whose magic was firm and resolute, a man who wouldn't waver in the face of adversity. Very few qualified.
Still, she had been content to watch him from afar, sorrowing as he did, and rejoicing as he did. In fact, she had all but accepted that he would never notice her existence, until breakfast that very morning. He had glanced at Ginny Weasley with a hint of interest, something that had never been there before. Now, after all this time, Astoria was nigh compelled to stop him from committing to a relationship that would destroy all the respect true purebloods held for him. The Slytherins who secretly counted on him to save them from their parents' fate, the parents who subtly helped him when they could, desperate to be free of their insane master, would have no recourse but to cast him aside and leave him at the mercy of Dumbledore and the Dark Lord.
"But would you believe me?" she wondered aloud. "And would you ever forgive me for being so forward?"
Astoria's eyes squeezed shut as she stretched another curl out with her finger. This whole mess could have been avoided if Draco Malfoy had gotten to Harry before Ron Weasley did. Her nose wrinkled at the name, her only sign of distaste. Yet somehow, despite his unfortunate 'best mate', he had become an honorable wizard.
"In the end, breeding rings true."
The curl sprang back up, smooth hair kissing along her finger. True, she had no right to introduce herself. And yes, offering unasked for advice was unseemly and much too bold, especially for a second daughter, but this one decision—his choice of romantic partner—could save or discard several lives.
"Even if he thinks I'm a forward busybody"—she winced—"someone has to speak up. All his usual sources of information are either gone, won't know, or wouldn't dare accept their culpability."
Decision made, Astoria couldn't stop herself from trailing her eyes over Harry as he pulled off a brilliant Wronski Feint. This might be the last time she observed him unseen; it would definitely be the last time she passed him by without acknowledgement. She could only hope that when his eyes landed upon her in the future, they didn't convey contempt or distrust. Such emotions would kill the unspoken hope that she might someday be worthy of Lord Harry Potter.
Laughing bitterly, Astoria wrapped her arms around herself, curling her fingers in the jade robes she wore; they were embroidered with her own hair, and had a corseted top. They were, undoubtedly, more flattering than the shapeless black robes all students were required to wear to classes. Black was too harsh for her complexion, leaving her looking like an ill child due to her height and stature. At fourteen, she was petite and only five-foot-three. With the amount of magic she had been blessed with, she didn't expect to grow any more.
The visages of Ginny Weasley (why in the world the girl shortened her proper name, Astoria would never understand) and Cho Chang flashed through her mind. Both girls had brown eyes and played Quidditch. Astoria had jade green eyes and her preferred sport was riding the pegasi her family kept.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she battled them into submission; she would never cry where someone could see her. It didn't matter anyway, because she had known all along that the chances he would ever choose her were infinitesimal. True, she was a pureblood witch, just like Chang and Weasley, but that was almost irrelevant. Harry wasn't someone who would fall for a witch because of her ancestry. Regardless, many pureblood witches at Hogwarts were firstborn daughters. Astoria wasn't blind to the attributes of her fellow witches, because she needed to always be aware of the competition. Daphne had legs, Bones had breasts, Lovegood had hips, and the Patils were exotic.
"They offer greater temptations than strawberry-blonde curls, jade eyes, and a petite physique."
A whoop of delight echoed through the afternoon air, jolting Astoria from her self-deprecating thoughts. It didn't matter what he thought of her. She only hoped that he would believe her when she told him the truth.
Taking a fortifying breath, Astoria steeled her nerves and flicked her birch wand. "Relashio!" A stream of fiery sparks erupted into the sky. Harry barrel-rolled thrice, and then swung his Firebolt around, flying directly toward her.
Too soon for her nerves, Harry stopped to hover over the balcony. His burning emerald eyes swept from the top of her head to her slipper-shod feet. Then, face wiped clean of emotion, he landed near her and dismounted the broom. After propping it against the parapet, he raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Yes?"
Astoria struggled with the urge to fidget, but she didn't want to seem like even more of a child than she sometimes looked. She lifted the hem of her robes, holding them just a touch too long so he could glimpse her delicate ankles, and then sank into a deep curtsey—deeper than any curtsey she had ever given in her life. "Lord Potter, I beg your forgiveness for this horrible breech of manners, and for disturbing your leisure time." He didn't say a word, and she barely smothered a flinch. "I fear I find myself in a situation my parents would be appalled to learn I instigated." Her legs began to burn with the exertion of holding completely still in such a pose; he was still silent. "I-I fear there are some things you are unaware of, my lord, and as no one else seems willing or able to impart the necessary knowledge unto you"—she swallowed and felt tears threaten to overwhelm her again—"I took it upon myself to blatantly ignore propriety and speak to you."
His silence condemned her. This was the worst outcome imaginable. This was even worse than the time she had overheard Lady Malfoy telling an acquaintance that Astoria would be a 'tolerable' match for Draco if Pansy, Daphne, and a few other pureblood witches were already spoken for.
What in the world was I thinking? What right do I have to bother him and spout unasked for—? A tanned, calloused hand entered her field of vision before she could finish the thought. Harry's hand cupped her left elbow, gently supporting her and lifting her back to her feet; it was only then that Astoria realized she had begun trembling, hands fisting in the skirt of her robes most viciously. She couldn't glance away from his hand on her elbow, savoring the warmth that would surely become nothing more than a treasured memory. Oh, what must he think of her?
"Are you all right, Lady Astoria?" Harry asked solicitously.
Her chin snapped upward, and she knew that shock overtook her face before she could even think to hide it. He knew her name? "I . . . I . . ." She sounded like a blasted fool! His hand slid up her arm to fold gently around her shoulder, and she wanted to scream with joy at the unintended caress.
His brow furrowed. "What's wrong?"
"You know my name." It came out sounding like an illegitimate heir: half full of awe at the existence of such a truth and half loathing the origins from whence it came. Where would Harry Potter have ever learned her name? She couldn't think of a precise instance in which her name would have been mentioned without negative connotations. She was probably 'a slimy Slytherin's stuck-up, little sister'.
Harry stilled. "I do." The words were careful, and her ability to read his face vanished, as if he had locked all his thoughts and emotions inside a vault.
The realization that Harry Potter was touching her, and that he already knew her name, pummeled into her all at once. This was the fulfillment of so many daydreams that it was improbable. Dazedly, she tapped her wand against the balustrade. The moment an elongated bench appeared, she collapsed onto it. "Please join me," she said as she patted the space beside her.
He scrutinized her for a moment before conceding to her request. "As you wish, my lady."
After he sat beside her, Astoria turned so that her right knee brushed against his left leg. She didn't care how improper it was, discarded her mother's voice berating her in her mind, and relished the renewed contact with the wizard she had long wanted for her own. If this was the only time in her life she would be allowed physical contact with him, then she would zealously gather as many brief touches as he would allow her. For a second, Astoria thought he was going to reach out and clasp her hand. He didn't, though, and she banished the thought as wishful thinking.
"What did you wish to discuss?" asked Harry.
Astoria bit the inside of her cheek as she was forcibly reminded of why, exactly, Lord Harry Potter was anywhere near her person. Now that he was next to her, the last thing she wanted to do was bring up his possible attraction to Ginny Weasley. But her feelings didn't matter at all, in this case. "I humbly ask your forgiveness for the impertinent topics I will raise. It is not my intention to make you uncomfortable in any way, Lord Potter."
Harry blinked, and then nodded. "Don't worry about my feelings. Speak truthfully of what needs to be said."
Right. She could do this. She really could. Harry had given his permission, after all. "At breakfast this morning, I noticed you looking at Ginny Weasley"—her family had long lost their right to a real title, and she didn't even deserve a 'Miss'—"with a certain . . . interest." The last word was almost mumbled, to her mortification. "I would advise you against following such an interest, my lord."
He leaned backward, and Astoria keenly felt the loss of their legs touching. Her magic rippled with abandonment. "Oh?" Harry raised one eyebrow, which was unbearably appealing. He looked like a reprobate. "Why is that?"
"Because they won't help you if you spit in the face of Magic itself. They won't trust you if you defy all Merlin and Morgana taught our ancestors. People will die, Lord Potter. She's unworthy of you."
"Why?"
Astoria closed her eyes and hoped that Harry wouldn't flee at the next words she spoke. Harry didn't understand them in context, and they were likely to make him loathe the very thought of her. "She comes from a family of Blood Traitors." Opening her eyes again took a great deal of daring on her part; she had never enjoyed confrontation.
"You say that as if you really believe it," Harry said, grimacing as if she had disappointed him somehow.
"I do."
"Why?"
"Because it's the truth." He shifted, as if to rise, and words spilled from her lips without a second thought. "I swear on my magic that the Weasleys are Blood Traitors in the eyes of Magic." A tendril of her magic wove through the air and encircled his wrist, proving its allegiance remained with her.
"Next you'll be agreeing with Malfoy and calling Hermione a 'Mudblood'." The light in his eyes seemed to beg her to disagree with him.
"I would never speak such a vulgar word," Astoria contradicted. A wince followed thereafter. "But Heir Malfoy wasn't incorrect in applying it to her."
"And I suppose you think the same of my mother," Harry snarled as he leapt to his feet. His magic boiled about him, and the raw rage it emanated made her feel ill.
"No!" she cried as she hurried to stand. She should have known he would make such an assumption; the inaccurate connection made sense from his view of things. She was botching this horribly! "Lily Evans, your mother, was a wonderful witch: clever, kind, virtuous, and more. Your father wouldn't have courted her otherwise, regardless of her immense beauty."
"Snape called my mother a 'Mudblood' in front of a group of people," Harry bit out tersely.
Astoria gasped. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she lifted a hand to cover her quivering lips. "You can't be serious. His mother sponsored her! He, of all people, knew she served Magic and honored her gift."
"Snape's mother sponsored my mother? What does that mean?" The tension lessened in his shoulders, and his magic stopped writhing in a cloud around him.
"Purebloods are raised with a full knowledge of their history, ancestry, and our roots. Magic is alive. It's a sentient energy, and it gifted slivers of itself to people with admirable qualities: honor, virtue, honesty, courage, perseverance, and so forth. In return, all it asked was that all people gifted with parts of itself be treated equally. Blood doesn't really matter; it's Magic that matters, my lord." He nodded once, sharply, so she continued speaking. "Since purebloods have the greatest knowledge on the topic, scrolls and tablets that date back millennia, they are charged with guiding the half-bloods and, most of all, teaching new Magic users—the Muggle-born—about our traditions and culture."
"So a Mudblood is . . . ?" His impatient stare demanded an answer.
"A Muggle-born who refuses to be sponsored for whatever reason." Astoria shrugged, unable to believe anyone who had been gifted with magic wouldn't want to learn of its origins. "I know for a fact that Miss Granger refused the offer the Malfoy family made; that's why Heir Malfoy despises her so much."
Harry huffed, as if a Bludger had just hit him. He reeled, before sitting back on the bench. "Why would she do that? And why wouldn't she mention meeting Malfoy before?"
"Some sponsorship contracts contain a clause that allows for bonding between a family member and the person being sponsored. It's not required, of course, just an option for the future. I don't know for sure, but from what I do know of Miss Granger, I imagine she thought it antiquated and barbaric. Once someone refuses such an offer, spits in the face of Magic itself, they are forbidden to speak of it, on pain of losing the very gift they were given," Astoria said. While Draco Malfoy certainly wouldn't be her first choice of spouse, she knew he would be a loyal husband. Granger could've done a lot worse—and was going to, if the unsubtle glances she kept giving Ron Weasley meant what Astoria thought they did.
"And Hermione spurned Draco, only to set her cap at Ron, a 'Blood Traitor', am I right?" Harry asked. "That's why Draco hates her and calls her that horrible name."
"Exactly right."
"You know, the first time I spoke with him, he said: 'I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families.'"
"Heir Malfoy doesn't really think that," Astoria said. "He must've been hurt and embarrassed by Granger's refusal. I know his parents wouldn't foster that kind of attitude."
"Hmm," Harry hummed noncommittally.
He seemed to be taking the news better than she had thought he would. That might be because she had heard Granger wasn't speaking to him anymore—something to do with Potions—and Weasley was publicly snogging the face off Lavender Brown, who clearly had no self-respect whatsoever.
"Please explain to me what 'Blood Traitor' means, my lady."
For a beat too long, Astoria cradled herself in those two words: my lady. To be permanently referred to as such, by him, in the most possessive manner, was one of her lifelong and fruitless pursuits. Why would he ever pick her, when Daphne was so much more? Assuming the Greengrass girls even appealed to him. Neither of them had brown eyes or played Quidditch, after all.
This was the most difficult part. She knew how close he was to the Weasleys, and she was about to ruin their perfect image. "Blood Traitors are those who can't sponsor because they lost the honor to do so." He waved a hand, indicating his desire for her to clarify. She did, once again thankful he hadn't zoomed off on his broom. "The current head of the Weasley Family is so obsessed with Muggles that when his father sponsored a Muggle-born, he tried to force her into a marriage." She unwittingly said 'marriage' in the same way Harry's Aunt Petunia said 'magic'.
His brow furrowed once more. "I don't. . . . Forcing someone into marriage is horrible, of course, but that doesn't account for your obvious level of disgust. Especially in a world that employs betrothal contracts."
Of all the things Sirius Black hadn't been able to impart unto his godson before dying, why couldn't this have been one of them? Astoria averted her eyes, aggravated at her flushing cheeks; they felt ablaze. "In the magical world the true joining of two people in an eternal commitment is called 'bonding'. Marriage is the equivalent of a lifelong mistress, or kept woman," she whispered. Her parents would be horrified if they ever heard such words leave her lips.
"Magic only approves of bonding," Harry stated, drawing the correct conclusion.
She nodded jerkily, and a mass of curls tumbled over her shoulders and lay against her chest. "All magic is to be respected. Marriage would relegate one of Magic's chosen into a lesser, cruel position. Especially since he would have still been able to bond, but she would not."
"So 'Blood Traitor' means traitor to the sworn duty Magic assigned those of pure blood?" As soon as she nodded, he continued. "That's why Malfoy was so angry I accepted Ron's friendship and not his. That's why he said: 'You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.'"
"That makes sense," Astoria agreed. She watched Harry tentatively, but he wasn't letting much shine through: thoughts or emotions. She took the fact that his leg was just barely touching her own as a sign that he believed her. His presence alone tempered her fear that he would hate her at the end of this conversation.
"So how, exactly, does Ginny tie into this? Who won't help me? Who won't trust me? Who will die?" he asked, rapid-fire.
It took her a moment to recall the words she had expelled earlier. "If you court her, it will ruin their faith in you. The Death Eaters won't help you. The Slytherins won't trust you. And because of that, many people will die, Lord Potter. Many people."
"The Death Eaters. Help me?" He stared at her as if he thought she was blooming mad.
Astoria lined up her thoughts and arguments meticulously. If she bungled this part, all the progress she had made was for naught. "Lord Potter, with all due respect to your own magical power and dueling ability, do you really believe six students, aged fifteen and under, could out-duel and escape from a large group of skilled, pureblood adult wizards and witches? Is luck the reason you evaded death at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, when you, yourself, said that the Dark Lord and nine Death Eaters were present and you were gravely wounded? Do you honestly think a house-elf could leave the grounds it's magically bound to without express permission from one of its masters? They're fighting against the influence of the Dark Marks as best they can!" she declared passionately.
"Some of them are murderous, bigoted louts. However, most of them really were Imperiused. I swear it on my magic." She reached out and grabbed his hand, needing him to feel and know that she was telling the truth. "The Dark Lord is a monster! And according to prophecy, you're the only hope they have of being freed. If you court Ginny Weasley, they will see it as a betrayal of all they've fought to protect and teach. You are literally their only hope, my lord." The tears were back in her eyes, and she wasn't sure if she could stifle them this time.
"So please," Astoria whispered, "I beg you to choose anyone other than Ginny Weasley."
"I don't have feelings for Ginny, Lady Astoria," Harry said as he absently rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand.
That didn't make any sense. She had seen his interest this morning with her own eyes! "But I saw . . ." Could she have been mistaken?
"I thought she might be an intriguing way to pass time while I waited. I didn't know such a thing would have such dire consequences, else I never would've entertained the thought in the first place," said Harry. His shoulders slumped, as if he was ashamed of his own ignorance, when the lack of knowledge wasn't his fault at all. Someone should have offered to sponsor him; though, until recently, like the others, she had assumed he was taught everything he needed to know as a child.
"While you waited for what?" Astoria asked. It almost sounded like he was waiting for a woman. But that was preposterous. All the witches she knew would be willing to drop everything, even a current courtship, to have a chance with him.
"For 'whom'?" he corrected. He lifted a hand and stroked her cheek, causing her breathing to cease momentarily.
Astoria stuttered as she asked, "W-while you w-waited for w-whom?"
Harry's thumb feathered across her lower lip. Tingles spread throughout her body, and she sighed with delight. This couldn't possibly be real. She must have fallen asleep at some point. But her dreams had never felt this true before. . . . "Your fifteenth birthday seems like it's a lifetime away, Astoria."
Her eyes fluttered shut at the sound of his tongue caressing her name. He had dropped the title, and she had her answer. He was, impossibly, waiting for her. She, Astoria Greengrass, a second daughter—she could scarcely allow the thought to take root. And he was right, her fifteenth birthday felt much too far away now that she knew he was anticipating it, and his legal right to court her. Eight months was an eternity.
"You choose me?" Astoria asked. "Are you sure?"
"On my honor, you are the lady I want at my side for eternity," Harry breathed. His magic crackled about him; his eyes shone like bejeweled lightning. "Your honesty and willingness to do what you felt was right—in the face of potential recriminations and hatred—solidified my earlier feelings; they will not change."
Astoria stood, dislodging his hand and sending it tumbling into his lap. His body and magic flinched at the action, as if she had just rejected him and fulfilled his worst nightmares.
"My lady?" The words resembled the whimpering of an abused Crup, and this time she couldn't stop the tears.
Before her fifteenth birthday, she literally couldn't speak of her feelings for him. It was one of the laws Morgana instituted to protect naïve and innocent witches from wizards who would seek to use them ill. Her magic would bind all words of love and commitment in her throat, but Harry couldn't possibly know such a thing. He was going to think she didn't care. Unless she . . .
Astoria stepped closer to him, coming to rest between his splayed legs. Her heart beat frantically as she set her hands upon his firm shoulders. His face betrayed nothing but confusion and pain as he gazed at her, and she wondered if he thought she intended to shove him backward and off the balcony. That was something she would never, ever do. And if this was the only way she could tell him that her heart rested in his palms, then so be it.
Her pale pink lips sealed over his. He froze for a moment, and then his hands burrowed into her hair and cradled her head, thumbs dancing along her rosy cheeks. A tendril of her magic extended from her core and slid inside his own, joining them together in a pale imitation of a true bonding. He gasped, and then clutched her tightly, before slowly pulling away.
"Your maiden's kiss," he breathed. He rubbed his chest, right over his heart. "I can feel it—you—inside me. Sirius told me about it, but I never thought—"
A maiden's kiss: the first kiss of a virgin, willingly given, and blessed by magic. It was one of the greatest honors she could ever bestow on a man. It was a prelude to bonding, the tendril of magic marking them as unavailable to all others. Only death or infidelity could break it, and the latter would strip the offender of their magic altogether.
"Will you wait for me?" asked Astoria.
"Of course." Harry hugged her close, his head resting against her chest lightly. "There will be no need for distractions, my lady. I swear to wait for you—as long as it takes."
Astoria's fingers carded through his hair, and she pressed his head firmly against her chest, so he could hear her heartbeat. It spoke the words she couldn't. She wasn't a firstborn daughter. She didn't have Daphne's legs, Bones's breasts, or Lovegood's hips. But, apparently, none of those things mattered in the least.
Because she still had Harry Potter.